


That Which is Best

by I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins



Series: In Darkness Lies the Truth [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4564914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins/pseuds/I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base." --Malcolm Hawke</p><p>A snippet of the Hawke siblings childhood. Will be told in three sets. Each sibling will get three one-shots that give some character insight into them, and how I see them.</p><p>AU/strong HC</p><p>Bethany is a somniari<br/>My "Hawke" is a F!Mage Hawke</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dreamer- I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot focuses on the relationship between Bethany and her father, and a little exploration into Bethany's powers.

Her pigtails bounce as she races through the pink field of flowers, blades of grass pricking the pads of her feet. Tiny glimmering orbs float around her ankles, and their laughter sounds like the tinkling of bells to her youthful ears.

She lays down in the grass with a huff, watching the sky morph shapes before her eyes. It never stays the same shape or colour, always shifting like it can't make up its mind what "sky" is supposed to be. A butterfly lands on the tip of her nose, tickling her skin. She squints, trying to see it more clearly.

"You'll go cross-eyed, doing that," a voice supplies behind her. "Or so you mortals have been known to say."

Bethany scrambles to her feet, heart racing wildly. Her eyes widen as she sees a large bear-like creature standing in front of her, but with large thorns poking from his body. The skin is pulled too tight around one eye socket, folding back to reveal the soft pink tissue holding the large, red eye in place.

Fear trickles up her spine. "Wh-what are you?" She clenches her fists, wondering if this was demon or spirit or some other such creature. Maker, but what could possibly look like that? Was it hurting? It must hurt, with those spikes, mustn't it? She hesitates, caught between wanting to offer her help and wanting to flee.

It shakes his head, and a sound echoes around them that almost sounds like laughter. "Nothing for a mortal such as yourself to worry about, child. I have no interest in expending that much energy. But others will come for you... hungry, even; if you linger in places like this." 

She shivers as the words slink across her skin, but they don't feel threatening. They're prickly, uncomfortable, but she feels no malice or anger- just the vaguest hint of a warning.

"Bethany?" Bethany?" a loud voice booms around her and she sighs, closing her eyes. She lets herself sink back down, fading away from the large demon-bear. She can feel it watching her as her form turns to vapor and floats away.

When she wakes up, she sees her father looming over her, a deep frown set in his lined face. His brow is puckered together, dark brwn eyes full of worry in the soft starlight. She rubs the sleep from her eyes, and looks up at she sky. It's still, like a dark blue blanket that hangs above their heads. Stars twinkle down at her, forming patterns and shapes she's still struggling to learn. Memorizing constellations is more of her brother's thing, she's never any good with patterns unless she's holding a sewing needle.

She glances over at Carver, who is sleeping soundily at her side, before her father clears his throat. She looks back at him, her wavey brown hair falling in her face. "What's the matter, Papa?" she asks, and she wonders if something's wrong.

He crooks his finger, motioning her away from the sleeping forms of her mother and siblings. "Papa, I'm sleepy," she mumbles, stiffling a yawn. Her mind is fuzzy, and still filled with dreams and fluff.

"You know why we are leaving Redcliffe Village, don't you, Bethany?" he asks, and she can tell by the tone of his voice that he's looking for a specific answer from her.  
Bethany bites her lip but nods. "Yes, Papa. Mar showed her magic, and it's dangerous if the templars know."

He folds his arms across his chest, a stern look pointed down at her. "And what are the Hawke family rules on magic, Bethany?"

She straightens her spine, pressing the wrinkled folds of her dress down. "We must use our magic responsibly. Never use magic without you present, and we must never use dangerous or unknow-- Oh. " She pauses, the realization hitting her. He knew. "I'm sorry, Papa. I didn't mean to Dream again... exactly." She shifts guilty, digging her bare toe into the dirt. She hadn't _really_ meant to, but she had really wanted to see what the glowing spirits were like. They seem so harmless when they visit her.

Malcolm lets out a heavy sigh, kneeling down and meeting her eyes. "You're nearing thirteen summers now. The Fade is a dangerous place, my little sunflower. You mustn't wander there alone, and you must be mindful of where you let yourself go when you sleep."

She nods her head, sticking out her chin and looking her father square in the eye. "Yes, Papa. I'll try very hard to resist the demons. I promise."

He cups her cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb across her skin. "You want to be a Healer don't you, sunflower?"

Her eye brighten and she nods, excitement bubbling in her chest. "Yes! I want to help make people better when they're sick."

He smiles, but the edges seem wilted, somehow, to her. "Papa? What's the matter?" She puts a hand on his cheek, her big brown eyes serious. "Please don't look so sad," she whispers.

Malcolm's smile grows, his eyes brightening just a little at his daughter's plea. "Ah, you do have a way of healing my heart, Bethany, even if you lack the natural skill to Heal."

This time, it's her smile that wilts, turning down at the edges and crumpling in on itself. "Why?" she asks, lip wavering. Her heart constricts, the pain of her constant failure making her breath hitch in her throat. She wants desperately to be a Spirit Healer, like her father. But he always says it's too dangerous for her, because she dreams too willfully. and that she can't sense her patient's feelings like a normal Spirit Healer. She could only sense Carver, and sometimes the random stranger.

His hand lifts away, and he stands. "You lack the sensitivity, my sunflower. I'm sorry."

She frowns, struggling to feel his emotions. But they're far away, like a thick fog is standing between her and them and she can't feel them no matter how hard she struggles. His brow furrows, and she can read in his eyes that he can feel her pain and frustration.

She just wants to be a Healer. Like her papa. To tend the sick and ill, to make their wounds better with this Maker-given curse. Instead, she Dreams even though she knows how much it frightens her Papa. It even scares Mar, her sister, and nothing ever scared the older mage. Except the Fade.

Bethany sighs, looking down at the blades of grass highlighted by the moonlight. "I'm sorry, Papa. I'll try harder."

Malcolm places his hand on her head, pausing for a moment, before moving his fingers to tangle in her hair. "Ah, Bethany, don't worry so much about being a Healer. You'll do fine if you focus on shutting down the Dreaming."

She nods, rubbing her wrist across her nose. "Yes, Papa," she replies, turning to follow him as he walks back to where the rest of the family is still sleep. She curls up between Carver and Maurevar, pulling the blanket up close to her chin.

This time, as she lets sleep overwhelm her, she fights hard to think of nothing at all. Not the shifting, ever-changing sky or the grumbling bear. Not the beautiful lights and strange statues. Instead, she focuses on the way the wind whispers through the grasses, and the wolves howling in the distance. Slowly, her mind drifts away, and the echo fades, and sleep embraces her gently.

 

 

 

 

These are my Hawkes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spirit Healers are always empaths in my hc. To be a Spirit Healer, you need to be a natural Empath first or it just doesn't work. You can have basic heal spells, but not a Spirit Healer. And because Spirit Healers deal with spirits, I'm assuming it might be risky for a somniari, who is already more attractive to demons, to deal with them. Especially in the eyes of her apostate father who lacks the experience in Dreamers, who are rare anyway.


	2. The Dreamer - II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany reflects on the Maker and her place in the world after her father dies. 
> 
> Drabble prompt: 100-500 word limit. "Death and Loss" was the prompt. I failed at the word limit- it's over 2,000, but whatever. "art" by me.

The Chantry smells of sweet incense and stale air. Voices whisper prayers of contrition all around her. The bench is hard beneath Bethany's butt and she fidgets; restless energy humming through her. Her mother shoots her a look and she bows her head, folding her hands neatly. Her lips murmur the familiar words, their easy rhythm bringing comfort even as she stops focusing on what she is apologizing for. She knows she should apologize for being a mage, and an apostate, but to say such words aloud with Templars nearby would be foolish. She keeps that regret in her heart, instead.

She looks to her right, and tries not to sigh. It's empty, of course. It has been since her Father died six months ago. Mar never came very often anyway, and Carver stopped going after the burial. Her heart clenches tight in her chest. She misses her father desperately. He was her guide, her compass. She had looked up to him so much. The thought of her father being gone, of never being there to teach her or tell her stories, tears at heart like a dagger.

 _Poor Carver,_ Bethany thinks, shoulders sagging. She knows he's lonely, too. She can feel it from him, in cold and hot waves that burn and scald her skin. Her father always- had always said that was what sensitive felt all the time, that tangible sensation of emotions. She isn't sure she likes it as much as she thought she would when she was little. Now, it seems far too overwhelming. Just her Dreams are hard enough.

A Templar begins to walk toward her and every muscle in her body tenses. She quiets her mind, trying to hide any evidence they might sense that she has magic. She presses her hands tighter together as she continues her prayer, in a small attempt at hiding their shaking.

He passes her by and she breathes a sigh of relief. She hates coming here. Always feeling on edge.  How can you find peace when you're constantly fearing en in glittering silver armour that will sooner kill you or lock you up than befriend you? It's not like she ever asked for magic. 

She does sigh this time, a soft puff of air that escapes her lips in near silence. She knows that isn't right, that she's being selfish. She's constantly caught between hating the templars and hating her magic, or more like hating herself for having it. For endangering her family further, for making her mother worry over her daily. 

_Maker forgive me for I have sinned. I have brought shame and endangered my family. Please, take this magic from me. Or, take me from them so that they can be safe._

 

_ _


	3. The Dreamer- III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany explores her feelings on a local girl. I headcanon Bethany as a lesbian asexual character, because her sexual orientation is never given to us. Photo manip done by me. This is the final one-shot from Bethany's POV. Next will start either Carver's or Mar's depending on whose inspiration hits harder. lol

Bethany twists her hair in her hands. The sun is warm on her neck in the heat. She watches as Allison bends low, talking to a small child. Her face lights in a rare smile, the sunlight casting pretty shadows on her high cheekbones. Allison's soft laughter carries over to where Bethany is standing, and the sound brings a smile to Bethany's face.

Allison glances over and spots Bethany, her dark eyes sparkling. She's too shy to call out, but Bethany watches as she says goodbye to the little boy and makes her way over to her. She smiles, and Beth's heart skips a beat. 

"Hello, Allison," she says, smiling. "Are you busy with your farm today?"

The woman shakes her head and quietly takes Bethany's hand. They walk around the small village, heading toward the large field with a windmill in the center of it. The breeze is cool and refreshing on Bethany's skin.

"I- I hear that the Blight's spreading farther. Barlin said he's going to se-set traps all over his farm, and bait them with po-poison, too. Do you think Darkspawn can be stopped with tra-traps and poisons?" Allison asks, and Bethany can feel the other woman's pulse racing through the palm of her hand.

Bethany shrugs, chewing on her lower lip. "I don't know. My sister says we should leave Lothering, go farther north. Mother wants to go to Kirkwall. Carver wants to fight it, too, but with his stupid sword instead of traps." She pauses, still holding Allison's hand. She looks up at the sky, at the gray clouds clustering around in ominous shapes. "Can you really outrun a Blight? Can you fight it?" she wonders aloud, a rhetorical question.

Ever since the first reports of Darkspawn in the Wilds, Bethany has been having stranger and stranger dreams. Sometimes, an old woman appears to her, eyes gleaming. She never speaks, just watches from a place far away that Bethany can't reach. Other times, her dreams are filled with twisting and faded images of Darkspawn, locked in battle against some shadowy foe.

She shakes her head to clear her mind. "Let's not talk of the Blight, please. It's so dreadful and the sun is so bright today." She looks into Allison's eyes and a warmth spreads through her. She smiles, pulling the woman in for a sudden hug. She holds her close, enjoying the comfort of being held by someone who cares about her. She leans back and presses the tip of her nose against Allison's. "When the Blight comes, we should run together. You can come with my family when we leave."

Allison smiles but shakes her head. "I-I have to stay in Lothering. My farm is here. My whole life- I can't go. If the Blight is to come, the Maker will protect me."

Bethany frowns. She knows that isn't true, that if the Blight spreads then mere prayers won't stop the destruction. But she also knows asking Allison to go with them is foolish. On the road she'd surely find out that Bethany and her sister are mages. So she holds her tongue with a sigh and kisses the side of Allison's cheek. "Then may the Maker watch over you, Allison."

 


	4. The Rebel- I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of Maurevar Hawke's one-shots. 
> 
> Maurevar (Mar) Hawke  
> Female  
> Mage with roguelike side talents (Yes, I cross classed her)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art is technically Mar in the future, but I don't have very much artwork for her yet. So, this is her as done by: http://reiitherad.deviantart.com/
> 
> Ignore the man in the photo for now. He'll be important- later. ;)

Sweat trickles down the back of her neck. The splintered wood from her staff pricks her fingers, drawing tiny droplets of blood. She purses her lips as she focuses her mana, drawing up a wall of ice.

"Very good, Maurevar," her father says, his voice rumbly and echoing in the dank cave.

Mar grins, tossing her head to get her messy blondish brown hair out of her eyes. "Of course it was, Papa. I mastered ice spells months ago," she replies.

Malcolm frowns, arms folded across his chest. "It is not wise to be so... confident, Maurevar. You might draw a pride demon close." 

She scoffs, adjusting her tunic. "I'll defeat any demon who crosses me, Papa. I'm a Hawke, after all, and a mage. Don't you think I'm strong enough, Papa?" she asks, faking a pout and looking dolefully at her father.

Malcolm's lips twitch a little, hiding a smile, before he chuckles and ruffles her short strands of hair. "You're feisty enough to take on any demon, I'll give you that," he admits.

Mar grins widely up at her father, her heartbeat finally slowing from the adrenaline rush of using magic. Now that her practise is over, though, she can feel the boredom already settling in. She shifts on the balls of her feet, itching to leave the dark and smelly cave to go do something, anything, aside from the dull sewing she knew her mother would want her to do. Malcolm lets out a sigh, watching her with eyes the same dark brown as the twins'. "Go on, Maurevar. You can go, but stay out of trouble," he warns, voice firm.

She crosses her fingers behind her back while nodding dutifully to her father. "Of course, Papa! I'm always good," she replies, dashing out of the cave before he can chastise her further. As she runs, she smacks into Carver. Rubbing her arm, she scowls down at him. "What are  _you_ doing in here, Carver? You're no mage," she says. "It's not like Papa needs you around here for anything," she adds, delighting in the way her brother's face turns beat red at her words.

Carver clenches his fists as he stares up at his sister. "I came here because ma asked me to, Mar. She wanted to sure you and da were alright."

Mar rolls her eyes as she brushes past her younger brother. It was such a shame he was born without the magic that pulses through her and Bethany. "If we needed help, what makes you think we'd call for you? Are you going to use your wittle wooden sword against the demons, Carver?" she asks over her shoulder.

"Carver? Son, is that your voice I hear?" Malcolm calls from further in the cave.

Carver ignores his sister, cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out to their father, instead. "Yes, da. Ma  says it's almost lunch time."

Mar scoffs, annoyed that he hadn't risen to her baiting. Oh, well, another time, she figures. She shakes her head and leaves, the tall grasses tickling her calves. She unties the long skirt she's wearing so that it flows down to the ground. The buckles and straps Bethany had sewn for her kept the pretty brown fabric high above her knees when she was practise her magic. Mother had insisted after she had accidentally lit her skirts on fire, once. Mar likes it because she can use the straps to hold a small, thin dagger and vials of potions when it's let down.

She hums to herself as she wanders the field, boredom seeping back in now that her brother isn't around to taunt. She slips through the treeline at the edge of the small woods, dancing in and out of the shadows. She enjoys being able to disappear, hidden from sight. Papa doesn't like it, because he says she should be focusing on her mage talents instead. But Mar never listens to her father's warnings or advice, and still plays in the shadows, pick pocketing from the nearby villagers as practise. Sometimes she finds extra coin, to buy herself a treat, and other times she gets a nice trinket or jewelry, depending on her target.

The rush of adrenaline, the thrill of almost being caught... It's a heady blend, running through her, and she can't resist the allure of danger. She sneaks into the village that sits on the other side of the small woods. Her fingers twitch as she watches the people lazily wandering around. A few seem to be in a hurry, legs moving them quickly as they scurry about. She sees one in particular that catches her eye, a woman with blonde hair that's already going gray. Fine wrinkles crease at the corner of her eyes and a very bejeweled necklace wraps around her throat.

Mar smiles to herself. The necklace is beyond her reach, but to wear something so boldly in such a tiny village? The fool woman is bound to have something worthwhile in her pockets, as well. She follows behind her, expression clear and blank as she tilts her head this way and that, pretending to be looking for a certain hovel or shop or some such. When  the woman stops to talk to someone, Mar pauses at a stall, running her fingers over a crudely made dagger. She nods her head as the merchant prattles on about the piece, ignoring his words but pretending to listen until the woman continues her path.

She sees the perfect opportunity ahead, and slips past the woman to wait in the shadows. As she turns the corner, Mar slips her hand into one of the pocketed folds of the dress, smiling when she feels the heavy weight of a coin purse. She pulls it gently, but quickly, from the woman's pocket and slips it into her own. Chuckling quietly to herself, she glances across the street. Her smile slips a little as she meets the eyes of a man with bright red hair. He winks at her, pressing a finger to his lips, and turns away, much to her delight.

Curious as to how much coin she managed to snag today, she quickly heads back for the wooded area, to count her ill-gotten goods alone. The coins are cool in her hands and a giggle bubbles forth from her lips. She leans against a tree as she counts them, eyes growing wider as she realizes just how much she has stolen.

A wolf howls behind her and she turns abruptly on her feet, dropping the coin purse and its contents in the process. "Shit," she whispers. 

It isn't just one wolf, but a small pack of seven. She hesitates to bring up her mana, her father's caution finally sinking in. One of the wolves leaps at her, and she screams, lashing out with ice. The tiny pellets hit the beast in the face, but it doesn't stop it from knocking her over, teeth sinking into her arm. Fear makes her heart race as she fumbles for her dagger. Suddenly, the beast makes a strange noise and blood coats her stomach. She looks up as the beast lets go of her arm, falling to its side, and sees Carver there with a small steel longsword. His brow is furrowed in clear anger but he doesn't say anything, just attacks the other beasts, standing like a shield between her and them. She gets over her shock quickly though, grabbing her dagger. "Well then, brother, let's say you and I kill us some beasties and bring the pelts to Papa?"

Carver just grunts in reply before swinging his blade at another wolf. Together, they manage to kill three more of the wolves before the rest run off. Carver turns to his sister, still scowling. "Foolish," he mutters, before grabbing something from his pouch. "Here, put this on," he continues, throwing a small vial of elfroot at her.

She catches it, confused, before the pain in her arm reminds her she had been bitten. "Right," she replies, smearing some of the cream over the puncture wound. "What're you doing here, anyway? And where in the void did you get that?" she asks, gesturing at his weapon.

"Da gave it to me," is all he says, turning away. "Let's go."

It's Mar's turn to scowl, her brother's short reply annoying her. "You're not going to answer me?" she demands to know.

Carver shakes his head, walking away. "No. It's time to go home, Sister. Don't be such a pain in the ass."

"Prat," she mutters, too low for him to hear. "I didn't need your help, you know. My magic would have saved me," she insists, bending down to pick up the coins she had dropped.

Carver grunts, but continues walking. "Whatever."

 

 


	5. The Rebel- II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mar has a bit of a thing for older men. >_> She's my rebel, my troublemaker, my little minx. lol This chapter is rated M for smut and underage sex. If you wish to skip reading, but still know the gist of what happened, skip to the bottom chapter notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut is light smut, not overly graphic. I don't do graphic smut, as it isn't my style of writing. Both styles are great, but this is how I personally write. :) I hope that's okay.

 

Mar watches the red-headed man from before, the one who had seen her stealing but not said a word. Black soot covers his face, neck, and arms as he pounds some sort of hammer down on top of  a blazing hot piece of steel. His muscles ripple in the afternoon sun. She lickes her lips, before walking over to him, swaying her narrow hips as she goes.

He doesn't look at her as she leans against a post, not until he finishes whatever it is he's doing. He wipes the sweat from his brow before taking off his black apron. "Ah, the little thief has returned. Come to see what goods I have? I warn you, the wagers of a blacksmith are poor indeed," he says with a grin that makes Mar's heart flutter.

Maker's breath but he's handsome, she thinks to herself. "Mmmm. Maybe I just came to see more about the man who winked at me?" she says, stepping closer to him.

He chuckles, the sound low and rumbly. "I see, so you came to see me and not my coin? How... delightful. And how old are you, little thief?"

Mar draws herself out, trying to make her small chest look a little bigger. "Sixteen," she replies. She purses her lips together, trying to look cute.

"Sixteen, is it? So young," he replies, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Perhaps you should be visiting a younger man, instead. At twenty-five, I might be a bit old, don't you think?"

She wets her lips again, heart beating fast. "I- I don't think so at all," she replies, staring into his dark brown eyes.

His lips quirk up into a small smile before he leans forward, barely a breath away. Mar closes her eyes, parting her lips in anticipation. She's never been kissed before and she feels a strange, tingling sensation growing between her legs. He chuckles again, and she can feel his breath against her lips. Suddenly, he moves away, and her eyes fly open in confusion.

He grins down at her. "Go on little thief, I have work to do today," he says with a wink before turning back to his work.

She frowns, annoyed, but leaves anyway. But as she walks across the small dirt road, her determination grows. She'll be back. Just, maybe not today.

 

~*~*~

 

Her face is painted with her mother's make-up. A little bit of dark brown above her eyes, and a soft rosy pink on her cheeks and lips. Bethany had done her hair for her, curling the short ends as much as she could and tucking a strand back with one of her pretty baubles. Her younger sister disapproves, Mar knows by the look she had given her, but Bethany had kept silent, as always.

Mar presses down the pretty dress she had also stolen from her mother, the tight corset making her meager breasts look fuller and on display. She watches the blacksmith as he talks with a woman. Her plain brown hair sits in a twisted knot above her head. Her face is small and delicate, and a smile curves her full lips upward. He bends down, brushing his lips against hers, and Mar scowls in response. After the woman leaves, Mar joins the man, keeping her hands behind her back like she often saw the brothel women do when they were trying to solicit a passerby. It makes her chest stick out even further as she pouts up at the blacksmith. "Who's your friend?" she asks, petulant.

He just chuckles again, and shows her his hand. "That was my wife, little thief."

Mar's heart drops a bit, but she's no less determined. "I have a name, you know. You can call me Mar," she replies, ignoring what he said about the woman being his wife.

He raises an eyebrow at her, leaning back against a post. He folds his arms across his chest. "Oh? What an interesting name for a little thief," he says. "If you're insisting on introductions, you can call me Bryan." 

"Bryan," she murmurs, testing the name out. "What a dull name," she teases.

He laughs, and the sound does odd things to Mar's stomach. She blushes, wondering if he's laughing at her, or her joke. "What a clever child," he teases in return. "Can I ask why you've returned then?"

She pouts a moment before answering, frustrated. "I came to see you, of course," she replies. "I thought we could get to know each other." She sticks her chin out defiantly, daring him to turn her away again.

Instead, he smirks, eyes gleaming. "Really now? How intriguing. We can hardly get to know each other here. I am married, remember? I'm sure my wife would have both our heads," he replies, rubbing his chin with one hand. "If you really wish to... talk more, meet me at the edge of those woods over there after dark. I'm sure you'll look quite lovely in the moonlight," he continues, winking at her again.

 

~*~*~

 

The moonlight casts shadows on the ground as she waits, shifting impatiently. She hopes she isn't too late. It had taken her mother longer than usual to fall asleep. She turns when she hears the sound of crunching grass, and smiles to see Bryan walking toward her. "You did come," she says with relief.

He grins wolfishly at her. "Not yet, I haven't," he says, laughing softly but she doesn't get the joke.

"What? You're here, aren't you?"

He just shakes his head at her, and cups her cheek. "Ah, little thief, such a minx you are to be tempting a man away from his wife in these late hours," he murmurs, bringing his lips down to caress hers.

A jolt of heat shoots through her as his lips part hers and he slips in his tongue. His hand is calloused on the back of her neck as he grips her firmly. His other hand snakes up to cup her breast and she moans into his mouth. "Do you think you know me well enough yet, little thief?" he asks, pulling back a little.

Her eyelids flutter open. She feels a little dizzy from the kiss, and her head is hazy. "Mmmm. What?"

He just chuckles, and slowly kisses her once more before pulling away. "It's getting late. You should scurry home, before your folks find you gone. We'll meet again, my minx."

 

~*~*~

 

For the next two weeks, Mar shows up at the same spot, waiting, but he never shows. She begins to doubt, wondering if maybe she had kissed him wrong? She continues to come, despite her sister's warnings. But two weeks is a long time, an eternity to Mar, and she begins to give up hope.

She turns to leave, deciding she won't come back again just to wait, alone, in the dark where the wolves might find her, when she hears the sound of approaching footsteps. She turns, eyes lighting up when she sees Byran.

"I've been waiting, you know," she pouts as he embraces her.

"Hush, little minx," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her lips. "I've been busy with work."

She frowns but lets him continuing kissing her, shivering as he dips his tongue into the hollow of her throat. She moans his name as he grabs her breast, slowly kneading it until she begins to tremble in his arms.

He lays her down in the grasses and begins to kiss his way down her body, exposing her breasts to the cool night air. Adrenaline rushes through her at the thought of being exposed in such a place, where they could be easily found. He continues trailing kisses down her stomach, nipping through the fabric of her dress. He pushes her skirts up, nibbling on her inner thigh. Her breath comes in pants as she wiggles under his touch. His mouth kisses places she's only ever touched with her own hands and her moan is louder than she expects.

The pain of him entering her is brief, and he is surprisingly gentle. The pleasure she feels as her eyelids close is beyond anything she's ever felt on her own, a pleasure so exquisite she craves more even after it's over, and she's lying in his arms. She rolls onto of his chest, kissing him, and he tastes of her. He chuckles against her cheek. "You want more already, little minx?" he murmurs in her ear

She nods and he grins, letting her take control as she straddles his hips. "There's a good girl," he whispers, causing her to shiver in anticipation. "Go on, show me what you want."

She bites her lip, nervous and excited all at once. "I want-" she begins, but he cuts her off.

"Show me," he repeats, eyes roaming over her body.

Understanding flashes across her face at his words. Her cheeks turn deep red, but she she trails her hands across her breasts and down her stomach, the movements awkward and clumsy. But it seems to work as his eyes narrow with desire. Mar continues downward, touching that place she usually only touches when she's alone. Slowly, she begins rubbing her nub in short, quick strokes. Her eyelids flutter shut as her lips part, the pleasure humming through her entire body, heightened by the fact that Bryan is watching. 

She whispers his name as the pleasure shoots through her again. He grips her hips as her eyes open shifting her to position her above his manhood. As he enters her, she lets her head fall back, biting her lip as he fills her. She shouts his name to the sky, praising the maker as she comes again.

 

~*~*~

 

Their affair only lasts a few months before her father finds out. His face is red with anger as he shouts at her. She scowls up at him, equally angry.

"Papa," Bethany interrupts, voice soft. "Please, don't be angry with Mar." She twists the fabric of her dress in her hands and Mar catches on.

"You told him!" she shouts at her sister.

"Maurevar Anne Hawke, you will not yell at your sister," Malcolm warns. "My decision is final. We leave tomorrow morning."

After he leaves, Mar continues to glare at her sister. "How could you?" she whispers furiously.

Bethany meets Mar's gaze, lower lip trembling. "I was worried," she replies.

Mar continues to scowl, unforgiving. Bethany reaches out, grabbing her hand. "Please don't be mad?" she asks, pouting her lips and making a silly face until Mar begrudgingly laughs. 

Mar sighs, running her free hand through her short tresses. "I guess I can't stay mad at my favourite sibling," she teases. "Even if she has a big mouth."

Bethany hesitates a moment before continuing. "Did you love him, sis?"

She shakes her head, smiling. "No. But the sex was good," she says with a wink.

Bethany crinkles her nose. "Gross," she replies, much to Mar's amusement. "I wish we didn't have to move, again," she adds, staring wistfully at their house.

"Oh? Are you going to miss staring at the serving wench from the inn?" she asks, tone teasing.

Her sister blushes bright red and covers her face with her hands. "Mar!" she admonishes.

"What? It's clear you think she's pretty," Mar replies innocently.

Bethany sighs this time, dropping her hands down. "You're such a brat."

"But you love me anyway, right?"

Bethany just shakes her head, smiling. "Come on, we should pack."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Details:
> 
> Mar loses her virginity to a man about 8 years older than her. She is 16, he is 25 and married. She does know he is married from pretty much the start. She is not a victim, nor is her heart broken by this man. She enjoys it for what it is- a very risky fling with a lot of lust. She's flirtatious, likes older men, and enjoys things that are a bit dangerous or forbidden.


	6. The Rebel- III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here is Mar's final one-shot. Enjoy! It's a short one, like Bethany's were.

Mar watches in horror as the templar sneers down at her. "What've got here? A little mageling, lighting bushes on fire for the fun of it? It's time for you to go to the circle, girl, where you belong. Come along now, and don't put up a fight," he warns, voice dangerously low.

Shit, shit, shit, she thinks to herself, fear paralyzing her to the spot. A million thoughts run through her mind, but she fears there is no escape. How many times had Father warned her to sense for templars before using her magic? Maker's ass, but he has always told her not to use it at all unless she has to. It isn't fair, she thinks, magic isn't a sin! She shouldn't have to hide.

A voice whispers to her, deep and menacing, a voice that only she can hear. "Let me in, let me in, little mage, and I can kill the templar for you," it hisses in her ear. "With our powers together, we can be unstoppable."

She clamps her hands over her ears. "No, NO!" she shouts, bending over. "I won't!"

Suddenly a shock wave hits her body, knocking her down as blinding pain shoots through her body. She screams, tears and snot streaming down her face, as the strength of the pain causes her to throw up down her tunic. She's shaking as she looks up at the templar, tears in her eyes.

He looks down at her, eyes narrowed. "That was a smite, mageling. Please, come quietly so I don't have to hurt you further," he cautions.

She sticks her chin out defiantly, anger helping to chase back some of the pain. She had meant the "no" to be for the demon, but anger chases away any logical thoughts. She draws up her mana and opens her mouth when lightning crackles the air. It hits the templar square in the chest and he grunts from the force of it. Mar turns, and her mouth falls open as she sees her father, eyes blazing with fury. "You will not have my daughter," he says, voice firm but not shouting.

The templar shakes his head. "Don't be foolish, serrah. It's safer if you both come with me."

Malcolm calls up his mana to perform another spell, his magic making the air seem to glisten for a moment. The templar charges at him, his daggers gleaming in the sunlight. Blood seeps from a wound in Malcolm's side as he uses his entropy magic to send the templar flying. He lands against a tree with a sickening thud. He doesn't get up, and his neck is bent at an odd angle. Malcolm pales as he hobbles over to him. 

"Is he... dead?" Mar whispers.

Malcolm just nods, pain causing his face to pinch. "Come on, Maurever. We need to hurry."

 

~*~*~

 

The templar's blade had not been ordinary blades. They were coated in some sort of poison, but they discovered this too late. Mar watches silently as Bethany sobs over their father's bed, his hand held tightly in hers. Carver stands in the corner, scowling, his fury plain on his face. Their mother sits on the other side of the bed, her husband's head in her lap as she wipes his brow with a cool washcloth.

He coughs, blood splattering against his hand as he covers his mouth. Bethany hiccups, tears still streaming down her rounded face. "Papa, you have to get better," she says, clutching his hand. "Please," she begs.

Malcolm gives her a weak smile. "I'm sorry, my little sunflower. You have to be strong now, okay?" he says, and his voice is no longer the deep rumble Mar is used to.

Carver grunts from his place in the shadows. "She wouldn't have to be strong if Mar had listened in the first place," he mutters.

Mar glares at her brother. "It wasn't my fault!" she shouts, fists clenched. "It's those stupid templars! They're the ones that want to trap us! I didn't do anything wrong," she replies, voice rising as she speaks.

Her mother glares at them both. "That is enough! From both of you!" 

They both continue to glare at each other, but it's Carver who replies. "Sorry, Mother," he mumbles, though his expression says clearly that he isn't.

Malcolm coughs again, and this time it's a great,heaving cough as he gasps for air. Bethany starts crying again, softer sobs this time as she clings to their father. Mar turns to leave, unable to bear the sight of her father dying. As she exits the room, she can hear Bethany whispering "I'm sorry," over and over.

Mar heart clenches as grief hits her. It's those stupid bloody templars, she repeats to herself. It's their fault Papa is dying, not hers. She had just been playing, right? She wasn't hurting anyone, so why'd he have to bother her? The Chantry has it wrong, she thinks, the Maker didn't curse them with magic. It's a gift. She's sure of it. She brushes the tears from her cheeks, a new determination running through her. She'll show them. All of them. Magic isn't evil or wrong or bad. Magic can be good. It has to be. Her father was a mage, after all.


	7. The Lone Warrior- I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the start of Carver's oneshots. For some reason, despite being my favourite of the three, he was the hardest for me to write.

Bethany shifts next to him, brow furrowed as she sleeps. Carver lets out a long sigh, his brown hair falling in his eyes as he stares up at the dual moons. The stars twinkle down at him, a bright spot on an otherwise dim horizon.

He only startles a little when Bethany shoots up, eyes wide and sweat trailing down her face. He rest a hand on her back, brow furrowed. "Beth?" he whispers, keeping his voice low so as not to wake his family.

She covers her face with her hands, shaking her head back and forth so violently he's afraid her neck will snap. He shifts, wrapping one arm around her, and a sob escapes her lips. She turns, burying her face in his night shirt. "I'm scared," she whispers.

He strokes her back, holding his twin sister close. "Where the dreams bad again?" he asks.

She nods, sniffling. "I wish I didn't have them," she admits with a sigh.

He clenches his jaw. "Magic just brings you trouble," he agrees.

"You're just jealous, Carver," Mar whispers from behind them. "My magic isn't bad at all."

  
Carver snorts softly, the night air blowing across his skin as he turns his head to look at his older sister. "If you weren't mages, we wouldn't have to move around so much and Bethany wouldn't have nightmares," he states, blunt as always.

Mar opens her mouth to argue but Bethany interrupts. "Please don't fight," she whispers. She bites her lip, looking at him with her big brown eyes. "Do you hate my magic, Carver?"

He nods. "Of course, it hurts you. But I don't hate you," he replies, frowning. He places a hand on top of her head, ruffling her wavy curls.

Mar grunts behind them. "Same thing, isn't it?"

"Shut up, Mar," Carver whispers, clenching his fists together tightly. "You don't know anything."

"Humph." She winks at Bethany. "I know more than you," she replies, tone haughty. "And I know you're just jealous that we have magic like Da, and you don't."

Carver grinds his teeth together anger flooding through him. "I am not jealous of your stupid magic. You're just trouble," he grits out.

Their father sits up, frowning at them all. "Why are you three awake? If you're going to be up chatting, perhaps we should start travelling early?" His tone is light and teasing, but Carver turns away, still angry at his sister's words.

"Whatever," he grunts. "I don't care."

Malcolm sighs. "Alright you three, go back to bed before you wake your mother."


	8. The Lone Warrior- II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize this before, but Carver and his mother are very close.

Carver watches his mother sitting by the window, a sad smile on her face as she holds a tiny sewing needle in her hand. Her hair is twisted in a messy bun atop her head, bits of grey mixing with the blondish brown hue. She turns to him, and her smile brightens just a little.

"Come here, son," she says, and her voice is gentle.

He joins her, sitting by her feet and staring up at her aging face. Lines and wrinkles crease at the corners of her bright green eyes. "I'm making you a new blanket," she says, showing him the pattern. Tiny grey threads create little swords on a dark brown cloth. He runs his fingers over it and beams up at her. "Do you like it?" she asks.

He nods, glad to have this time alone with his mother. His sisters are off practising magic with their father. He furrows his brow a moment, hand dropping back to rest at his side. "Ma?" he asks, looking into her eyes.

"Yes, Carver?"

He hestiates, unsure how to form the question always hovering around in his mind. "Do you think magic good?"

Her lips pull down in a small frown and he instantly regrets asking. He didn't want to make her sad. "I think it depends on the weilder," she says finally. "But shouldn't you ask your father about this?"

Carver shakes his head. "Da wouldn't understand," he mumbles. "He likes magic, like Mar does."

Leandra chuckles softly. "I'm not sure anyone likes magic as much as your sister does."

"She's going to get us caught," Carver grumbles moodily. The thought of anything bad happening to his family drives a rod of fear so strong through him that he can hardly stand it. And being afraid makes him angry, a burning hot emotion always under the surface.

Leandra places a hand under his chin. "Your father will protect us," she replies, and Carver can hear the love and trust in her voice. "You're too young to be worrying over such things, darling."

He jerks his head away, hating himself for his reaction when his mother sighs and frowns again. "Da's in danger too," he says. "And I'm not a baby, Ma," he says, eyes narrowed.

She nods her head, looking back down at her work. "No, no you're not, but you'll always be my baby," she says, a tiny smile playing on the edges of her lips. "My precious little boy."

He grunts, rolling his eyes. "Ma," he says, drawing out the word in a bit of a whine. "Don't say stuff like that."

She just chuckles, bringing the needle to poke through the cloth again. "Of course, my son."


	9. The Lone Warrior- III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final Carver oneshot! Short, but it's more of a drabble anyway.

Carver watches his mother, dressed in a dress made of pure black cotton. Her eyes are tired and full of sorrow, red rimmed from crying. She stares down at Malcolm's grave, marked by the tinest of rocks. "I hate to leave him here, all alone," she whispers.

He joins her, standing by her side while his sisters wait in the wagon. He can hear Bethany crying, the sound making him flinch. He straightens his shoulders, looping his arm with his mother's. "Don't worry ma, I'll protect us now. Da wouldn't want you to be sad," he says gruffly.

Leandra leans her head on her son's shoulder, sniffling softly. "You're right, of course. But I miss him so much," she admits.

He nods, gently guiding her toward the wagon. His heart is thumping wildly beneath his chest, grief making his chest tight.

"He's with the Maker now, Carver. One day, I'll join him, as well. You must be strong for your sisters, okay?"

He frowns as he helps his mother up to sit behind the oxen, the reigns in hand. "You're not going to die for a long time yet," he mutters, brow pinched together.

She smiles down at him. "Of course not, darling. But still, I worry about what my children will do once I'm gone. It's a mother's right," she replies.

They ride in silence toward the tiny villiage of Lothering. Carver wonders what it'll be like, living in a new home without their father. Mostly, he worries what Mar will do without their father to temper her foolishness. He lets out a sigh that is hidden by the wind. He wishes with all that he is that his siblings never had the curse of magic in them. For their sake, as well as his own.


End file.
